Before I Forget
by Elfpen
Summary: They're not even drabbles. Just a line or two. A scene. A thought. Some have stories behind them, some don't. Some are funny, some intense, some mundane, some heartbreaking. This is just a place for me to write them all down before I forget them completely.
1. Nothing to be Ashamed Of

It was raining. Their britches were both muddy, but neither of them truly cared. The grass in the Pendragon graveyard was wet and itchy, but they sat there anyway.

"Sometimes I think I must be cursed," Arthur said, staring blankly at the tombstones in front of him.

"How do you mean?"

"Everyone lies to me." The king let his eyes scan over the three gravestones immediately in front of them. One old, one aging, and one fresh. "Even you've lied to me," he said. Merlin turned to him with a look of hurt, and Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry, that wasn't fair. You did lie, but for a reason. For both our sakes." He looked down between his feet. "No one else has ever shown that consideration."

Merlin didn't reply, and took a moment to look at the graves. _Ygraine. Uther. Morgana._ "Your mother never lied to you," He said.

"Yes well she was never here to tell me otherwise," Arthur said. He sounded angry, but Merlin knew that it was only enough anger to hide his heartache.

"Your father loved you, Arthur."

"Then he had _no right_," Arthur grit his teeth. "_No right _to lie to me like that, about everything."

It was Merlin's turn to downcast his eyes. "No."

It was quiet for a long time after that. Both soaked beyond the point of caring, neither considered that they should be inside.

"Or maybe it is my fault," Arthur said. "Maybe I was born like this. A freak of nature, just _begging_ people to lie to me."

Merlin laughed aloud into the rain. "Yes, that's you, alright. And me too." He turned his face up into the downpour. "Just look at us. A couple of freaks wrapped in lies and curses." He looked back down and spat out the water that had fallen into his mouth. "Destiny must either love or hate us, what with all the meddling she does in our lives."

"You're different," Arthur said. Merlin looked at him. "You didn't ask for magic."

"And you didn't ask to be lied to."

"No," Arthur said, and continued quickly, "No, but where magic has hurt you, you'll be able to justify it. To put it off yourself. Me?" He looked over at the graves. "I've been lied to all my life by a man people now regard as a monster, a _menace_. I allowed him to shape my life, my beliefs, everything."

"You are not your father, Arthur."

"No, but that's just it. My _father,_ Merlin. He was a liar. A warlord. A paranoid, violent, misguided king who hurt you, me, and everyone I've ever held dear. And he was my _father._" Arthur shook his head. "I hate him so much. But I can't describe to you the pain I feel knowing that despite what he did to this kingdom, despite how much it _hurt_ to be his son, I still _care_." Arthur's voice wavered. "I shouldn't care. I shouldn't have to care, after what he did to me." He put his head in his hands and tried to hide his shame. "But I do. And damn it, it hurts."

Merlin was silent for a while before he said, barely audible above the lightly falling rain, "You care for your father, Arthur. A man, although misguided, who sought to protect his kingdom and his family. He failed, yes. But he loved you, and you love him back. That's nothing to be ashamed of."

The king didn't move, but sat there miserably in front of his silent mother, his lying father, his fallen sister. The only one of them still able to draw breath, Arthur Pendragon could only begin to weep.

Silently, Merlin put a hand on the king's shoulder, and then another, and then drew him into a hug. For once in his life, Arthur didn't resist.

It was nothing to be ashamed of. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.


	2. To War Once More

_A/N: These are actually three different scenes, but are all part of the same narrative that has been slowly growing itself in my head the past few months. I may or may not make this into a full-blown story eventually._

* * *

Aodan looked apologetically at Merlin. "I'm sorry, Emrys," he said. "I never thought that it would come to this, any more than you.

"For decades, we fought for our own lives, for the freedom to live as magicians and warlocks and druids. But now, the tables have turned. We must fight again, not for those who have magic, but for those who have none."

His eyes were piercing, blue, and pleading. "Emrys, I need your help."

* * *

His staff hit the flagstones dully, but everywhere, heads turned to him. This was a city of magicians. They could all feel the power radiating from him, flowing out of his staff like a current. Merlin didn't have to say anything as two dumbfounded guards sent word to their master. He was let in without question. When he reached the rather slap-dash throne room, their master was eating his luncheon and didn't look up at the new arrival.

"Ah, Merlin Emrys, here at last. Come to join me, have you?" He popped a cherry tomato into his mouth.

"If you think that's what I've come to do, then you are sorely mistaken," Merlin said from the doorway. The other man swallowed and looked up with a suddenly grave expression.

"I see. Then you've come to kill me."

"No," Emrys snapped back, his staff a pillar in his hand. "I've come to stop you."

* * *

Arthur didn't think he'd ever seen Merlin look so old. For a split second, Arthur thought he could see in his mind's eye what his friend would look like in years come, his beard grey, his eyes sagging. Not Dragoon. Not Emrys. Only Merlin, old and weary.

"Never, in all this time, did I ever imagine it would come to this. After all that we've been through, I thought it would finally end. After Nimue, after Morgause, Morgana, Mordred. I thought that after it all, I'd never again be forced to kill my own people for the sake of peace, protect the ones I love from the ones I call kin. " His voice lowered to a pained whispered.

"How naïve I've been."


	3. Debut

Merlin wasn't really a physician in his own right. But he was a magician, a friend, and knew enough healing magic to be of comfort in their situation. So, at the request of both king and queen, he was on call that night to help in any way he could.

The moon was only a small sliver of light in the sky, and the darkness only made everything that much more surreal.

Arthur was biting his finger painfully hard, pacing and trying to hide the fact that he was shaking for fear.

Merlin was there. Alice was there. Everything would be fine. Fine. It would be fine. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to listen. After a while, everything went quiet. Frighteningly quiet. Arthur stood up, sweating profusely with worry. He looked toward the room. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped out. It was Merlin.

"What's happened?" Arthur croaked. "What's wrong?"

Merlin stepped into the moonlight so Arthur could finally see his smile.

"It's a girl," he said softly.

Arthur wasn't sure whether he should be standing or sitting, smiling or crying. The confusion must have shown on his face, because Merlin chuckled and stepped forward to guide Arthur towards the room down the hall.

"Come on, Daddy Arthur. There's a princess I want you to meet."


	4. Just Deserts

"Get up."

"Nnrrrgh."

"Get _up!_"

"Nrrnggnnhrhm."

A sigh.

"Almighty warlock my ass. You're not meant to be abed during _lunch_, Merlin."

"Mfdnrtfrrossnnnot."

"Well I sure do. Now. Get _up!_"

The coverlet hadn't moved an inch before Arthur was sent flying across the room and into a sofa, which did nothing to cushion his landing.

"Damnit, Merlin!" He came up with a throw blanket wrapped around his head. He yanked it off with as much dignity and righteous ire as he could muster, his instincts bending toward the intimidation technique.

Merlin, face shoved into a pillow as it was, remained unaffected.

"You know what? I was wrong about magic earlier." Arthur said, voice deadpan. "It can corrupt. Look at you. You've tossed your best friend against a wall _intentionally_, for selfish ambitions of sleeping longer than _any_ human should ever deem possible."

"Not human," Merlin slurred out of the side of his mouth, "'reature of Old Religion. Totally 'iff'rent."

"You _threw me against a wall_."

"You 'it the couch, 'idn't you?"

"What if I was _concussed, _hmm? Would you be sleeping easy _then_?"

"I've always told you I could throw better than you in my sleep," Merlin said, eyes still peacefully closed, "Can aim better, too."

"You were _trying_ to toss me into your sofa?"

"Maybe."

"…And a throw quilt."

Merlin let out a stupid laugh, but said nothing. Arthur sighed.

"I don't have time for this." He marched over. "The entire council is waiting down stairs for the pronouncements of the mighty _Emrys _on the budding Guild of Magic, and what have I to tell them? That he is too _spoilt _and _lazy_ to get his sorry arse out of bed before midday."

"I was waking _your_ sorry arse up for the last eternity of my life. I'm just making up for lost time, thanks."

"And how long is it going to be until you're 'caught up'?"

"…How long was I your servant for? Ten years?"

"Six."

"Seven."

"Fine, seven."

"Eight. There, you have your answer."

"_Mer_lin!" Arthur reached out and grabbed a spindly arm. "We don't have time for your… your _pratishness!_ Get up!"

"That's _my_ word."

"God, I sound like you." Arthur looked truly mortified, but came back around when there was a loud knock on the door and Gwen let herself in.

"What are you two _doing_? The council is getting restless and – Merlin! Haven't you even gotten _dressed_?" All at once their world morphed into two guilty boys facing the ire of their mother. "Get out of bed!"

Merlin sat up quicker than an arrow. "Yes, Gwen."

"Arthur, get his robes – couldn't you just wake him up?"

"Well I tried, but he-"

"No, not now. Just hurry! The lords won't wait forever!"

"This is your fault," Arthur told Merlin as he helped the man into his robes

"I was only taking my just deserts."

"_Just?_"

"Eight years, Sire." Merlin faced his king with a smirk.

Arthur shook his head. "This new cushy lifestyle has ruined you, it really has."

"Really? Haven't looked in the mirror recently, then?"

"Idiot."

"Prat."

"Lazy."

"Hypocr-"

"_Boys!"_

Black and blond heads whipped around in submission. "Yes, Gwen."

The queen only rolled her eyes and led the small party downstairs.

"Next time I'll just send _Gwen_ to go fetch you," Arthur said.

"What, you want your wife thrown against a sofa?"

"You _wouldn't dare_."

"Well, I couldn't help it if I did, you Pendragons are all sound frightfully similar to a man asleep."

Arthur glared at him, at the man who could summon wordless magic and aim at blanket-covered sofas in his sleep, but refused to discern the difference between male and female footsteps in the morning.

"How long will I have to put up with this, _Mer_lin?"

"Did we say something about eight years, earlier?"

"_Mer_lin!" Arthur hissed as they came to the council chambers.

Merlin smiled and patted Arthur on the back as he headed for his seat at the Round Table.

"Just deserts, Arthur. Just deserts."


	5. Something to Tell the Grandkids

"Well, this is…" Merlin glanced between the two royals and gulped. "…different."

"Yes, we gathered that, _Mer_lin," Gwen snapped. "and _you_, idiot as you are, are supposed to _fix it_." Even as the queen poked a menacing finger in his face, Merlin was only seconds away from laughing.

"Arthur!" Arthur said, his face in an unusually expressive frown, "Stop it! This won't help _anything_." He turned to Merlin with an apologetic look. "Merlin, surely you must know what to do?"

Desperately fighting back his smile, Merlin tried to look serious. "Sorry Ar- er, Gwen, but I've really never seen anything like it." He looked between the two. Gwen, reserved and calm as ever, Arthur indignant and glaring daggers – but _in each other's body_. "I can scour my library, but it'll take time."

Arthur rolled Gwen's eyes. "_Time? _How much _time?_" He screeched.

"Arthur!" Arthur's own voice said.

Merlin snorted. "It's fine, Gwen, really, I deal with him often enough."

Gwen scoffed through her husband's voice. "Deal with him, maybe, but not… not when it's _my body _doing it – just, stop, Arthur, it's weird."

"Weird? _Weird?_ Oh, and you think it's not weird for _me_, to look over and see myself looking so… so _girlish_?"

Gwen straightened Arthur's body up and into a glare. Arthur used her eyes to glare back. Merlin was nearly shaking in an effort _not _to laugh.

"_Girlish_?"

"And don't even get me _started_ on this damned skirt-"

"With the size of feet you have, I'm surprised you don't trip over them regardless of _skirts_,"

"You're so _short_,"

"You're too tall. I feel so exposed… and short hair!"

"Lord knows why girls don't just insist on trousers…"

"Do _all_ of your shirts' necklines go down to your chest?"

"Speak for yourself – and what on _earth_ do you women do with your b-"

"Don't you _dare,_ Arthur Pendragon, oh, how I have half a mind to deck you right now-"

"Surely you wouldn't hurt _yourself_,"

"Oh, you just _wait_ until I'm back to myself, _my lord_."

"Believe me, I'm in no rush to stay this way, _Guinevere_."

They were nearly nose-to-nose, and seemed to have forgotten Merlin entirely. The sorcerer spoke through a laugh that wanted to rise, and would probably get him killed. Though by which royal (or which royal's body) he was not sure. It may have taken a bit of magic to keep the guffaws at bay.

"Right then, your majesties, perhaps you'd better come with me and we'll try and sort this out."


	6. What Care Means

A/N: I don't really know how to introduce this next piece. It's been batting around in my head for a few days, now.

I suppose I should say this: Ilenna is an OC of mine, introduced in _Cripple_ and given a slight backstory in _Nod_. In my headcanon, she is Merlin's first and closest apprentice. I actually have quite a story for her that I might eventually write and publish, but as is, I'm hesitant to include her in much because she is, however much I like her, an OC, and people usually don't like to be bothered by OCs, especially female OCs, and _especially_ female OCs who become close friends with the canon characters. Still, I wanted to get this scene out of my head so it'd stop bugging me. It has a back story behind it that I could but haven't written down, but… yeah. I'll just leave it at that.

* * *

They finished eating dinner, and moved into comfortable conversation. However, Ilenna didn't fail to notice how dark and slack Merlin's eyes had become. She'd been concerned about him ever since their close call at Riverwood; she knew he needed his rest. So she let the conversation die out gently on her own account, gave her former mentor a smile, and rose.

"It's late, we should both be in bed. You especially," She gave him a motherly chastising look, and didn't understand the sudden panic on his face. She ignored it. "Good night, Merlin,"

"No," his voice was so abrupt, so urgent, that she froze where she was. He flushed darkly. "No, Ilenna, I…" He froze, and swallowed, trying far too late to compose himself. "You don't have to go just yet," he said.

"Merlin," her face shone with worry, but she smiled at him graciously, "It's very nearly midnight by now."

"I'm not tired," he said too quickly. She crossed her arms.

"I have eyes, Merlin, and you look fit to faint any moment. Your body is still recovering, you need rest."

"I_know_ that, I'm just not… tired."

Ilenna was frowning at him. "Merlin, you need _sleep_."

"I _can't!_" And neither of them were really expecting the anger that came out in the words. He hesitated when he saw her shocked expression, and lowered his face into his hands. "I can't," he repeated, weakly this time. Confused but concerned, Ilenna went back towards him and sat down at his side.

"Merlin?" She asked, and tentatively placed a hand on his back. He didn't move.

"I can't sleep," his voice was muffled from his position, "I can hardly close my eyes. Every time… I can only see _them_," He growled, "Them, and their _torches_, and _stakes_ and… and _hatred_…" Ilenna wasn't sure what the strange tone in his voice was, because in all the years of her apprenticeship, she'd never seen Merlin cry. His back began to shake under her hand. She rubbed it comfortingly.

"Merlin?" She said, very quietly. "Are you… have you been having nightmares?"

He shook his head. "No," He told her, "no, that's just it. They're not nightmares, not anymore. They're _memories_. I wish they werejust dreams. But I have the burns to prove it." Ilenna looked irresistibly to the bandages on his arms and legs, to the one peeking out at the top of his collar. "I can forget them in the daytime, but at night… sleep has become hell." He paused, and when Ilenna didn't say anything, continued, "And I can't… I can't go there again. I can't sleep. I _won't_." His voice cracked violently, and Ilenna wasn't sure what to do. She'd never seen him like this. He started to shake again."Please, Ilenna I can't, … please don't leave me with them again. Please don't leave me here alone," He was begging. _Begging_. Emrys, the most powerful warlock of all time, a well-respected lord in his own right, the rock of stability throughout her apprenticeship, and a happy, encouraging friend in even the hardest times, was _begging_. Begging _her_, through tears and a broken voice, to help him. And she hadn't the slightest idea what to do.

"Merlin," she almost whispered, unsure of herself. And then she realized with some trepidation that her mentor had dissolved into tears that he couldn't speak through, and she could only react instinctively. She grabbed his shoulder and pulled him to her.

It was awkward, but she wasn't going to let go for the world. She'd never had siblings, or close friends, anything or anyone who would accustom her to physical comforts with other people. But skies be damned, Merlin was too important for her own social ineptitude to get in the way. So whether it was the right thing to do or not, she pulled him into a hug, and eventually found his head with her hand. She'd seen Guinevere comfort the young Amhar this way, running her hand through his hair and across his back. Perhaps it was the right thing to do, because Merlin didn't pull away, and he only wept, harder with each second, into her shoulder.

She knew he had full reason to be upset, but she also knew that the lack of sleep was making matters worse. She knew first hand that even small upsets could be blown out of proportion by insomnia; Merlin's upset was by no means small, but his sleepless nights were not helping.

His face was smashed into the hollow of her shoulder, his tears and sniffles making a sloppy mess of her dress, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. This was _Merlin_. He could make a mess on her if he wanted to, because he was hurting, and she couldn't care about anything more than that.

"Merlin," She whispered, trying not to think about how it was bit odd for her to be holding him, when he was so much taller and broader than her, "gods, Merlin, why didn't you tell anyone?"

He sniffed and spoke haltingly through his irregular breaths. "I don't… Arthur would have made a fuss, and overreacted for weeks. Gwen would … would have mothered me to death. I don't… I don't need _pity_, Ilenna. I don't need… smothering. I just need… to_ not be alone_." His breath hitched again, and he hiccupped back another sob. Ilenna could feel a painful ache in her throat as she reached back up to brush his hair again.

"You're not alone, Merlin, I'm here. I'm not leaving."

He hiccupped again, and nodded wordlessly. She hadn't realized that he'd wrapped his arms around her until he hugged harder, holding on as if she was the only thing left. It actually hurt, but she let him. Eventually, his breaths evened, and sobs subsided. He drew back, face downcast to hide the aftereffects of crying. He sniffed with gross noises, and had to hold a hand to his nose. He looked at her and grimaced.

"Lord, your dress, Ilenna, I'm sorry,"

"It's just a dress, Merlin," she told him, and rose. She fetched a handkerchief for him. As he cleaned himself up, she continued to brush the ends of his hair and top of his back. It seemed to calm him, so eventually she said,

"Merlin, I know it hurts, but… you need to sleep."

He shook his head.

"I won't leave. I'll sit by you all night, if that's what you need, but Merlin, you _need _to sleep. You're spent completely, and avoiding it is only making it worse." Her voice was soft, but firm. He sighed and looked down at his lap.

"Not… not in my room," he whispered. "It makes it worse." She nodded.

"Alright. Go get changed. I'll make up a spot for you out here, alright?" He nodded wordlessly again, and shuffled off to find sleep clothes. When he came back, she'd gathered up quilts and pillows and piled them on the couch. She'd also spelled them to make them more comfortable, but she wouldn't tell him that. He half lay, half fell into the makeshift bed, and curled the quilts around him like a cocoon. She'd pulled an armchair close to the couch and pulled a blanket up around herself, settling in for an uncomfortable but necessary half-sleep near her former mentor.

"Ilenna?" Merlin's voice was still raw from crying, "Thank you."

"There's nothing to thank, Merlin," Ilenna said, and wondered to herself at how far they'd come. It was perhaps the first time she realized that he was not her master, that she was not his apprentice. They were both just human beings, flawed and hurting each in their turn, friends for each other when those times came. "Get some rest. I'll be here."

It sounded like he said 'thank you' again before drifting off, but it wasn't long before his breaths evened out and she knew he was well and truly asleep. She'd nodded off herself, but was awakened again what felt like moments later when he started thrashing and crying out in his sleep. She sat up and reached out over to grab his arm.

"Merlin, stop," she said, only half aware of the words that come out of her half-asleep mouth, "Merlin, you're alright," And he calmed down just a little. _"__ácwiðee swefnae, __nihtslæp."_ The sleeping spell seemed to do the trick, and he went limp and quiet once more, sinking back into his bed restfully. His arm fell, but Ilenna held onto his hand. "You're not alone, Merlin," she told him, even though he was asleep and she was about to become so. "You have friends here. We… I won't leave. You're not alone." And she drifted back into her own slumber. As she did, she knew in the back of her mind that this was far from over, that Merlin had real physical and psychological scars that would be hurting for a long time. But she knew that for life to go on, all wounds had to heal. And sometimes, healing came like this: long nights slept in an uncomfortably cramped armchair with a too-thin blanket and someone else's tears and snot all over your dress. But it also came with the reward of Merlin's peaceful breathing, the sleep sinking into his features, the promise that he could, was going to heal, in time.

They both slept in the next morning, and when their friends found them in the streaming light of a summer morning, their hands were still intertwined and resting between them.


	7. Unexpected and Unexcused

**A/N:** I've actually had some people - a _lot_ of people, many more than I expected – tell me how they see potential with my OC Ilenna and Merlin as a romantic couple. I'll be honest, when someone first told me, I abhorred the idea, but by the third or fourth mention, I actually started wondering what that would look like – if it were to happen – what it would look like in my stories. So this will probably lead to nothing, but… I just had to experiment with a thought or two. So excuse my blatant show of borderline Mary-Sueness.

* * *

At first, Arthur wasn't quite sure if what he was seeing was actually there. He'd never seen either of them act like this in all the time he'd known either of them. He'd like to say he could read their situation from a mile away, but then, so much had changed, it was hard to tell.

Ilenna had been away in her home in the north for nearly three years after graduating from Merlin's tutelage. She'd left Camelot as young woman just barely into adulthood, unsure of her abilities and terrified of the duty that called her back to her homeland. After passing her homeland authority onto the shoulders of her cousin and ensuring her approval of his ruling, she had returned to Camelot changed. She was the same Ilenna they all knew and loved, but settled. Her insecurity had melted away to reveal a self-assured woman – no longer young – who held herself with a confidence, authority, and grace that was all her own, nothing Merlin had had to teach her. She was quiet as ever, smiled the same way, and was as seriously pleasant as Arthur remembered. But she was undoubtedly, beautifully matured and different.

Merlin, meanwhile, had also changed in his own way. He had settled into a more solid role at the head of the Watch than he'd held during Ilenna's apprenticeship. Because Ilenna had been his first real student and he'd been utterly determined not to fail her, Merlin had grown rather jumpy during the tenure of Ilenna's apprenticeship, nervous that he would mess up at every turn, fail at teaching a subject he'd never had to teach before. After Ilenna had graduated well-rounded and left as an able young woman, Merlin had gone through a several month long withdrawl and bout of depression, but eventually, had slowly worked his way back into a much calmer attitude than before. He'd taken time to grow comfortable as Court Sorcerer, and even more so as head of the Watch. While he did not take on any more apprentices, he taught collectively all the young students that other Watchers apprenticed and was always willing to have pupils up in his tower for tutelling. Merlin was, despite all Arthur's teasing, far from an idiot, and once he got over his own fear, proved to be a natural born teacher. Watching him now, Arthur thought that Merlin was meant for the role, and that this is where life would see him for a long time to come.

So much had changed, and yet so little. They were all the same people, but older, comfortable. The day Ilenna had returned to Camelot, it'd been Merlin out in front of the welcoming crowd, hugging her close the moment her feet touched the ground. At the banquet Arthur had hosted in her honor that evening, the two had gabbled on like they hadn't missed a day of each other. He listened to her tales of the Northern Druids with interest, and she laughed at his odd sense of humor with as much sincerity as she had in years gone by. It was as if nothing had changed at all.

But then, slowly, things shifted.

Arthur wasn't sure when it started happening, but he hoped he wasn't the only one who saw it - The way Ilenna rarely went to Merlin's hours at odd hours like she used to, the way the littlest things made them uncomfortable. How straight-backed and darned _respectful_ Merlin had grown around his former apprentice, and how Ilenna ignored his behavior with a tight-lipped acceptance. And now, as Arthur munched half-heartedly on his dinner, how Merlin watched Illenna, who was looking away from him, with such an odd look in his eye that Arthur had never seen on the man. Then, Ilenna moved, and Merlin snapped out of whatever thoughts had kept him, and his face changed to a very sudden, inexplicable disturbance.

Arthur frowned at the sorcerer from his place at table, but the warlock didn't notice. The king picked at his food all that night, thinking and not really tasting.

"Something's bothering you," Guinevere said that night as she unbound her hair. Arthur was sitting on their bed, idly staring out the window.

"Hmm?"

"I said," she came over to the bedpost nearest to him, "that something is bothering you. What is it?"

He sighed and glanced at her. Of all people, surely Guinevere would understand without passing judgment. "I'm not sure if I'm blind, or delusional," he told his wife. She frowned and sat down next to him, listening. "ever since Ilenna's come back to Camelot… at first everything was so normal, but now, I can't help but noticing how she and Merlin are acting like strangers to each other. I'm not sure if they've had a fight, or they're…" he stopped, and was surprised when Gwen finished for him,

"Or they're falling in love with each other, and have no idea how to go about it?"

Arthur looked at her. "You see it too, then?" He asked, both relieved that he wasn't alone in his impressions and alarmed at the prospect of their mutual suspicions being a reality. Gwen sighed.

"Yes, for quite a while now, and I feel sorry for the both of them."

Arthur shook his head. "Sorry for them? But it makes total sense – they've known each other for so long, and are obviously close-"

"but as master and apprentice, Arthur. Before, everything they did together was defined by their relationship as teacher and pupil. Merlin treated Ilenna like a younger sister, or niece most of the time. Even once she'd graduated, they were friends, but friends as a master is friends with a former student. Like your knights are with you."

"Yes, but," Arthur said, frowning, "No one can deny how much Ilenna has grown up. She's no longer a child under Merlin's teaching. She's a lady now - and a very fine, self-sufficient one, at that."

"Exactly," Gwen said with emphasis. "Ilenna has grown up. She's an adult, like Merlin has been all this time. Not only that, she's a competent, self-assured, lovely sorceress who is now on the same level as Merlin, and has been very dear to him for a very long time. I don't think we should be too surprised that he's begun to fall in love with her." She let him absorb that. From his face, she could tell he was thinking it all through carefully. She added more quietly, "But Arthur, that doesn't change the fact that he's only ever been her master, that all their relationship has ever been forbids all romance – not to mention the fact that Merlin is many years older than Ilenna, perhaps more than some would deep appropriate."

Arthur scoffed at that last bit. "Since when has Merlin been concerned about 'appropriate'?"

"Since it extends to Ilenna's honor." When he looked at her sharply, she sighed and said, "Arthur, Ilenna is still quite young-"

"She's twenty-two-"

"Yes, and next year Merlin will be thirty-one."

Arthur blinked. Would he _really_? Were they all getting so old? He hadn't really ever considered the fact that Merlin had been a bachelor all this time, that his slowly-creeping age might make romance difficult for him, watching as all eligible ladies continue to marry at younger ages, while he slowly aged his way out of an acceptable age to take on any woman who wasn't already a widow.

"But…" He stuttered, shrugging, "it's _Ilenna_ and _Merlin_. They just… _belong_ together, don't they? Romantically or not."

Gwen smiled. "And I wouldn't be the only one to agree. But if Merlin is anything, he's sensitive toward the people he loves. And with all the socially acceptable cards stacked against him, I'm quite positive he hasn't the slightest idea what to do."

"And what of Ilenna?"

Gwen smiled. "Oh, I'm quite sure she's as smitten with him as he is with her. But Merlin is really the unexpected one – no, I saw Ilenna years ago."

"What?" Arthur asked incredulously. Gwen tilted her head and looked at her husband pointedly.

"Arthur," she said, as though explaining a joke to a gullible child, "you can hardly blame her. Merlin is possibly the sweetest, most charming man in all of Albion – and you have to admit that he _is_ rather dashing-"

"sprouting grey hairs at thirty," Arthur grumbled, hating to hear this talk from his wife who, although he knew as completely loyal, could still manage to make him jealous of their Court Sorcerer's effortless (and, to Arthur, nonsensical) appeal in the eyes of women.

"and all the more attractive for it," Gwen retorted.

"_Really?_" Arthur was dumbfounded. Gwen nodded easily.

"Ask anyone, Arthur. A fleck or two of grey does him well. Makes him look dignified, wise. And that beard of his does help. Merlin can pull of the scruffy, disheveled sorcerer look quite well."

"You can stop any time you like," Arthur rolled his eyes.

"The _point _is," Gwen said, "is that, if Ilenna wasn't already falling for him before she graduated – which would shock me, frankly – she certainly is now."

"How can you _tell_?"

"Because I'm a woman."

He wisely didn't comment after that, because he'd learned in many years of marriage that this was a sufficient answer for nearly everything that came out of his wife's mouth. After letting the quiet go on a moment, he sighed and asked annoyedly,

"So what do _we_ do?"

Gwen shrugged. "Nothing, for now. Let them be."

Arthur sighed and slouched. "I was afraid you'd say that. I hate doing nothing, acting like I don't have eyes."

Gwen patted his shoulder. "If it were any other couple, I'd be more than happy to play matchmaker. But them… Arthur, even you can see how they must feel awkward about it. Don't push Merlin, if the subject comes up. He probably has his brain in a knot over it already."

"As usual, confounded idiot. Why does he have to make everything so complicated?"

"Because he's Merlin, dear." Sensing an end to their conversation, Guinevere rose and went to her side of their bed. Arthur pulled back the covers and sulkily climbed into bed.

"That really shouldn't be an excuse, you know."

"And why not?"

"Because it shouldn't."

"And you suddenly have the power to pronounce unsupported judgments against him?"

"Yes."

"Why's that, Arthur?"

"Well, because I'm his _king_, aren't I?"

"That really shouldn't be an excuse, dear."

"…Goodnight, Gwen."

Guinevere laughed.

* * *

**A/N: **Welp, I might have weirded some of you out, but I genuinely was curious about what some other people saw in my stories that I obviously missed, so I thought I'd do an experiment to arrange things in a plausible way (if not one I hadn't considered) to see where it went. So, if you like, tell me what you think. I may explore this idea a bit more, if people aren't to grossed out.


	8. A Rehashed Cliche

**A/N:** Well, everyone seems to be in favor of the Ilenna/Merlin ship (I was actually rather surprised), so I shall keep experimenting until someone tells me to stop, I suppose, or until I run out of ideas. A big thank you to **Ryne42** who looked this over and had some lovely/helpful things to say. I'm kind of nervous about these experiments, because I am not and have never been much of a romance writer. Anything on that end from me tends to end up weird mush and not at all enjoyable. But, here's another go at the Ilenna/Merlin idea.

* * *

Ilenna wasn't entirely sure what it was about dancing, but there was certainly _something_ about it that she was convinced must be magical enough to make it either a blessing or a damning curse. Ilenna wasn't overfond of dancing itself, because she wasn't good at small talk, much less while trying to keep her feet moving correctly with music. But dancing had grown more comfortable for her as she grew older and more sure of herself, and even more so as she befriended most of the knights and male Watchers of Camelot, who were, for the most part, kind and friendly dancing partners. And so, in her years at Camelot, she'd grown to look forward to the yearly banquets that called for dancing - particularly the Sahaim, Yule, and Imbolc festivals, which all provided much needed merrymaking amidst the darkening winter months.

It was Samhaim in Camelot, one of the biggest festivals of the year and Ilenna's first festival back from the far north. She'd been looking forward to for weeks, a time to reconnect with old friends and old memories. She'd been smelling the autumn spices and the prepared harvest for days, and she knew the cooks would never disappoint. The night of, she was so wrapped up in her excitement that she'd nearly forgotten to dress appropriately. Luckily, a castle handmaid, Lucy (who was no more Ilenna's maid than any else's, but had latched onto the sorceress like a child to an older sibling) had come into her quarters before the feast and immediately taken Ilenna into a whirl of preparations.

"You can't intend on wearing _that_, can you?" She'd cried, looking sweetly but disappointedly at Ilenna's plain dress. The sorceress blinked.

"I hadn't actually thought of it," she'd realized out loud. Lucy made an 'ackh' noise in her throat that Ilenna was used to only hearing in her homeland, and shook her head all the way to Ilenna's wardrobe.

"Well, I won't allow you to go to your first real festival back in Camelot looking like that. Go on, take it off, and take down your hair. I'll fix you up right, or you shan't go at all."

Ilenna was inclined to roll her eyes, but deep down, was grateful for the help. A sorceress she may have been, but she'd always needed help when it came to styling herself.

After Lucy had picked out a rich red gown (like the leaves outside, Lucy had said) and set it aside, she sat Ilenna in front of her and set to untangling her thick hair.

"Oh, you'll look so lovely. You've been a missed face in Camelot's hall these past harvests. It'll be so nice to have you out there again," Lucy dimpled. Ilenna smiled slightly.

"Thank you, Lucy. I only hope I can remember the dances. You know my feet have never had a good memory."

Lucy tutted again. "Don't be silly, you'll be fine, as always." She paused, and brushed in silence for a while before she said," I don't know if anyone's told you, m'lady… not that you weren't before, of course, but since you've come back to Camelot… well, you're a right beauty now, if I might say."

Ilenna blushed suddenly. "Oh. Thank you, Lucy," She said quietly. It was a horrid problem to have, she had never really known how to accept compliments, especially on her looks. In truth, she'd never received many in her lifetime.

Lucy giggled. "It's true. And I think I can say, not a man on that floor will care about your feet's memory, because they'll be too busy looking at you."

"Lucy!" Ilenna swatted at her knee.

"Oh, shush! It's true, whether you think so or not. Now stop moving, our you'll muss your own plait." Ilenna straightened her back and quieted, but was still blotchy and red in the face. After another quiet moment, Lucy giggled again. If the sound wasn't so lovely, Ilenna might have grown irritated by it. "I wish I could be there to see his face," she said. Ilenna frowned.

"Who's face?"

"Oh, you know," Lucy said conspiritorally, "_him_."

Ilenna frowned deeper. "No, Lucy, I don't know." She said seriously. Lucy actually paused in her braiding.

"You mean… you two aren't… there's no one… _special_?"

"I don't have a courtier, if that's what you mean, Lu," Ilenna told her over her shoulder. Lucy paused, and then said smally,

"Oh."

Ilenna frowned for the rest of the time she sat there. She wanted to ask who, exactly, Lucy was referring to, but something stopped her. Had Lucy really thought that Ilenna was secretly courting someone? The idea was ridiculous. Ilenna was possibly the last woman in Camelot to have courting on her mind. Behind her, Lucy stood up, and Ilenna made herself forget.

"Now, let's get you into this dress," the maid said, eyes sparkling.

* * *

Because Lucy kept touching and re-touching her hair and dress for an absurd amount of time, Ilenna actually arrived somewhat late. When she did arrive, she snuck in the side doors so no one might notice her tardiness. It was still only light drinks and food favors, so she hadn't missed anything too important.

Out of habit, she cast her eyes about for Merlin, and spotted him up at the head table where he was either talking or bickering with the king (predictable) although the chances seemed to lean toward talking, because Guinevere was smiling. As she made her way toward them, she passed a gaggle of women, who were actually talking about Merlin himself.

"…going to have a dance with the man, I swear."

"Or two," another said.

"Or three!" a third giggled.

"Ugh," the second one sighed, looking at Merlin, "It's a crime he's still single."

"Well _I_ plan on solving that for all, thank you," the first said smugly.

Ilenna slowed her pace, unable to draw her ear away.

"You really think he'll warm up to you? I've heard he's no interest in women at all. Married completely to the job, they say."

"I'm a sorceress, of the Watch, in fact," the woman replied. Ilenna didn't recognize her from the Watch. She must have been a new initiate. "I speak his language, know his work. Of course he'll warm up to me."

About then, Ilenna finally passed out of earshot, feeling her blood pulse hotly. Who was this _girl_ to try and _win_ Merlin? She didn't know him. She knew nothing about him. She had only ever seen him in formal settings, Ilenna was willing to bet. She wasn't friends with him. She'd never seen him fall asleep in his study, heard him when he was angry, or when he was giddy. She didn't know his quirks and habits, how he always forgot which homework he'd assigned to Ilenna and never let her cast destruction spells unless he was there to proctor. She didn't know about the missions they'd been on together, the dangers they'd faced. She'd never cast a healing spell to save his life, suffered snow and freezing rain with him through the groves of the Sacred Hills, she'd never had to drag him to shelter after he'd been taken down in battle, she'd never seen him cry, seen his elation at arriving home, she didn't know the slightest _thing_ about Merlin. And damn it all, Ilenna was Merlin's friend. She wasn't going to let this… _Witch_ attempt to woo him, a man she didn't know.

She must've approached the head table with a residual grimace in place, because Gwen was the first to see her and frown. "Ilenna! I was wondering if you'd be coming – are you alright?"

Ilenna realized her mistake, and smiled brightly. She would forget about the Witch. Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin were vastly more important. "Yes, of course. I'm sorry I'm late. Lucy had me up primping for an eternity." Gwen smiled at her in understanding. Arthur and Merlin finally turned to see her.

"Ilenna!" Merlin said, sounding almost surprised. He stood suddenly still, his eyes trained on her, but saying nothing. Arthur stepped in front of him.

"It's lovely to see you, as always," the king took her hand in his kindly. She smiled bright at him.

"I can't say how glad I am to be back, Samhain at Camelot is a missed memory." She glanced at Merlin and did a double take at him, because he looked like he'd had a shock. "Merlin?" She asked, and the question drew the royals' attention to the Court Sorcerer, as well.

Merlin blushed at the sudden attention. "Sorry, it's, uh, nothing." He glanced down and cleared his throat. "You look absolutely lovely tonight, Ilenna," He said with a smile. Arthur's eyes shot over as his friend said 'absolutely', but Merlin was very pointedly not looking at the king. Ilenna smiled anyway.

"Thank you, Merlin. You don't look bad yourself – tunic pressed and all." She shot a glance at the Queen. "I must assume Gwen helped on that end,"

"That she did," the queen affirmed, looking smug.

"Well, he's better for it, your Majesty." She smiled, and turned back to her former teacher. "I expect a dance later, Merlin, because my feet have forgotten everything, and I don't have the gall to trample the toes of anyone else."

"Anyone but me," Merlin still looked flustered, but his mouth twitched up in a smile.

"You're my teacher." She frowned. "Were. _Were _my teacher." She shook her head, and didn't know what to do with the awkward pause that followed. She smiled at the trio. "Until then, if you'll excuse me, I promised Leon I'd let him introduce me to his druid sweetheart." She tipped her head at the royals and Merlin and brushed past them to where the red cloaks of Camelot had congregated toward one side of the room.

Merlin left the conversation not too long after Ilenna did, dragged off by a student wanting to introduce him to his parents. As he left, Arthur was fighting hard to contain a grin. "_Absolutely_ lovely?" he said to his wife. Gwen swatted him.

"Oh, leave it, Arthur."

"He's got it bad, he has. Poor sod."

"Don't you dare mention it to him, Arthur, we talked about this."

"Why can't we be _fun_ about it? Like with Leon? Or Percival?"

"Because it's _Merlin_, dear."

"That really shouldn't be an excuse."

* * *

When the dancing started, Ilenna was still caught up in conversation with Reyna. She was a freckled, sweet-faced young druid girl who'd come to Camelot during Ilenna's absence and struck up an unlikely fancy with Sir Leon. Ilenna could barely contain her smile as she watched them; Leon was utterly smitten, doting on her every need, and Ilenna could only think how wonderfully, poetically ironic it all was, because she knew Leon had once been the knight most keenly opposed to magic. And here he was, besotted with a druid witch. It was lovely.

As the music started, Leon and Reyna kindly excused themselves to dance, and although Sir Kellian offered to dance with her, Ilenna declined and opted to stand aside for one dance and finish her drink.

About halfway through the dance – and it was a long one – she spotted the Witch she'd overheard earlier dancing with Merlin. Ilenna gripped the stem of her goblet harder and darted her eyes away, ears pounding. But after a while, she managed to look back, and very nearly laughed at what she saw.

Poor Merlin.

He looked completely and utterly baffled as the witch tried to flirt with him while dancing, and he was blushing to the tips of his ears at something she'd said. His mouth moved occasionally, and Ilenna knew he was making polite small talk, but she could sense his discomfort. At one point, the two danced near the edge of the floor, and the witch chose that moment to hug Merlin uncomfortably close. Ilenna was burning with anger, but it turned to strange amusement when Merlin shot her the most helpless, urgent look and mouthed the words, _help me_. He looked offended when she choked on her wine and laughed.

He had to suffer until the dance was over, but before the clingy sorceress had a chance to re-capture him, Ilenna slid gracefully over and he offered her the next dance. She accepted.

"You seem to have found a friend," she said as they walked out onto the dance floor. He looked rather disturbed.

"Who I've no intentions of keeping, thanks. Is she drunk? Bewitched?"

"Neither."

"That's worse," he said. She laughed.

"I overheard her earlier. Apparently she has every intention of seducing you." To which Merlin's face turned red all over again, and Ilenna felt a surge of satisfaction that she couldn't justify. "Don't look too concerned, Merlin. I wouldn't have let her get too close."

He peered at her as they took up their dancing position. "Wouldn't you have?" he asked in a curious tone.

"Of course not," she said, and was going to add, _I'm your friend_, but stopped herself suddenly, though she didn't know why. There was a pause as they began dancing, and Ilenna spotted the sorceress in question standing with her friends on the sidelines. "Besides, her friends already made it clear that you've declared yourself off-limits."

He frowned at her. "How've I done that?"

Ilenna looked up at him. "They said you're married to your job."

Merlin looked at her, and then away. "Something like that," he muttered so she could barely hear.

They didn't talk much through the dance, just slight comments here and there about the festival, about Arthur, the knights. As time wore on, Ilenna found herself growing more and more aware of Merlin's hand on her waist, which was odd. She remembered dancing with him countless times before at these formal events, when she was his apprentice. It'd been all about the dancing then, learning the steps, and yet now she suddenly realized that she was dancing _with_ him. And something about that made her very suddenly aware of his hand on her waist, his steady breathing that she could feel stirring the stray hairs that had floated out of her braid, the gentle pressure he used to direct her around other couples that she couldn't see. She found herself frowning as she thought on it, because it was all so strange; why should she notice this? Why now? Why should it matter that, dancing with Merlin, she didn't want to have to dance with anyone else that night? How should looking down and seeing their feet move together in sync make her feel so glad inside? What about all this had changed since they'd last danced? _What was going on?_ It was a strange, inter-looping question, and it made Ilenna miss half of what Merlin had been saying.

"…three yules ago."

She shook herself. "I'm sorry," She said, blushing, "I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere, Merlin."

He smiled at her, as if he'd guessed it. "I said, for all your talk of bad memory, you haven't forgotten a single step. You're just as good a dancer as you were three yules ago."

"I had a good teacher."

"Oh, why thank you."

"Too bad you were busy that day."

He let out a laugh at that, a bark that might have been too loud for the dance floor, but he didn't seem to care. "Was I?"

"Guinevere was a teacher. You were a stomping ground."

"My _toes_ were."

She snorted. "Sorry."

"Well it obviously paid off," He said, giving her a slight squeeze on her back. She was sure he didn't mean it to send a pleasant trill up her spine, because it surprised even her. "My toes may yet forgive you." She smiled, but said nothing more. Slowly, the music tapered off, and they came to the end of the dance. Like the rest of the men, Merlin took her hand as he bowed, and she curtsied. Unlike the rest of the men, Merlin didn't let go. She followed his gaze and saw the Witch from earlier, coming toward them with a predatory look in her eye.

"Ilenna," He said, somehow managing a sweet tone despite his obvious panic, "would you like another dance?" He looked back at her, and she wasn't sure whether laughing or smiling would be appropriate, so it all came out as a strange snort instead, but it made him smile.

"Of course. If only to make up for three years' appeasement on your toes," she teased.

"Don't be ridiculous," He said as he took her in a quick retreat away from the Witch, "these festivals haven't been the same without you," he said. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet with sincerity. "you appeased them the day you decided to come home."

She didn't have to think about what 'home' meant, because somewhere along the way, years ago, Camelot had become home. The northern lands of her family were here heritage, but here, here was home. And she had three years of dancing to make up for.

Merlin was casting a nervous sidelong glance at the Witch, who seemed to be watching him. "I don't want to impose, but… would you mind all too much if I kept you for the evening?"

And even though she knew that he hadn't meant it really because of _her,_ even though she knew all these strange feelings she was getting from dancing with _Merlin_ of all people would keep her up all night thinking and fretting like one of those silly maidens from the gossiping side of society, even though she knew that she would miss out dancing with all of her other friends and probably wear her poor feet into next week, Ilenna didn't need to take a second thought.

"Not at all."


	9. Human Steel

**A/N: !SUPER ÜBER ANGST WARNING!**

I'm not really sure what this is. I wrote it in like ten minutes and didn't do any editing. I've just had one too many crummy-mood moments this past week, I suppose, so there you go. ...I would say 'enjoy', but it's rather dark, so... take that as you will.

* * *

He was sitting against a wall, high up on the battlements of the castle, out of the way of the passing night patrols and riding on the hope that no one would disturb him there. He wasn't sure what he would do if they did. He wasn't sure of much anything, just then.

He was so tired. So tired, and weary, and ready for it to end. He wasn't really sure what 'it' was, though. He was only beginning to realize, when he'd set out on destiny's trail so long ago, he'd signed away himself, or what would have been himself. As it was, he wasn't sure who he was.

He wanted to scream. To cry for pain, for loneliness, for everything. He wanted to shout and let his magic loose, he wanted to curl up in a ball and give himself over to despair, just for a little while, just so he could sleep in the honesty of knowing that he wasn't alright. Just so he could have a few sweet hours not shrouded and cushioned by lies of his own making. Just to _be_.

But that wasn't Merlin. Merlin didn't shout. Merlin didn't cry. Merlin wasn't lonely – he was happy. He was foolish. Sweet, bumbling, ridiculous Merlin, whose stupidity and loyalty had somehow earned him friends. Merlin, who knew no troubles, who'd never killed a man, who would fade away into history as a noble nobody whom people thought they knew.

But that wasn't him. That was a lie. The biggest lie, the lie that everyone believed, even him.

And behind every lie resides a deeper secret, and his secret was only big enough to suit the biggest lie.

Emrys. Another of his identities. All-powerful. Solves everything. Emrys was the hope of the druids, of magic users everywhere. He was destiny. He was magic. He would herald in the time of Albion alongside the Once and Future King. His wisdom would be renowned across the ages, his feats of magic written down in the annals of time. The most powerful sorcerer to ever live.

But that wasn't him, either. He wasn't sure it ever would be. Emrys had no reason to cry. Emrys never questioned his own destiny. Emrys was sure of himself, Emrys was a cornerstone, a rock of faith, unwavering in duty and strength. Emrys was a hero.

But he, he wasn't. He wasn't Merlin, he wasn't a fool. He wasn't Emrys, he wasn't a hero. He was stuck betwixt the two, a limbo somewhere between the greatest lie and the greatest secret, and he wasn't sure who he was anymore. He wasn't sure.

There was something wrong with him, he thought, when he couldn't find tears to cry, when he couldn't make himself voice the screams that his mind called for, for release. There was something very, very wrong. But then his memory reminded him, in a whisper he wished he could forget, that there had always been something wrong with him. That he was born this way. Between prophecies of old and laws set in stone before he was conceived, it had always been so. His life had always been laid out as the crux of worlds colliding, the target between the hammer of the gods and anvil of destiny. He was their steel, a warped, beaten hybrid of metals that nature never allowed together except by man's deadly design. He was a tool, wrenched from the laws nature with no identity apart from his purpose.

He wasn't Merlin.

He wasn't Emrys.

He was human steel.

Perhaps that was why he couldn't cry. Perhaps that was why he couldn't scream. Perhaps that was why, when they finally found him freezing up there, he didn't say a word, heedless to their questions. Perhaps that was why he couldn't bring himself to pick up the mask again.

A steel sword, named and praised by all but himself.

Steel was such a cold metal.


	10. Tradition

A/N: Well, here's a little Christmas gift for y'all. I'm working on the next chapter of Recrudesce as well, but I got a message while back concerning the Merlin/Ilenna pair, and since it's the Christmas season, this idea just popped in my head, and… yeah. You can blame myself, my sappy brain, and Michael Buble's voice for this one. Okay, well only partially Michael Buble. But he's all I've been listening to all this week, so… Yeah. Him and John Powell.

Anyway, here's some Christmasy Ilenna/Merlin goodness, for all fans of the oddball pair. *runs and hides from sappiness*

* * *

The first time, it was her very first Yule in Camelot.

For someone who hated nothing more than being stared at, it was a traumatizing experience – really the stuff of nightmares. And of course, out of everyone in the castle who attended the feast that night, it _would_ be her. Ilenna, only a few weeks in Camelot's residence, accent still painful against a backdrop of southern voices, as nervous and bashful and uptight as ever, was walking with her newly appointed teacher, Merlin Emrys, when it happened. By some twist of destiny specifically meant to torment her, they'd ended up going through the one doorway that led them right under a sprig of mistletoe. Immediately, those who spotted them 'ooed' and 'awed' and stared. Ever the gentlemen, Merlin took the whole thing in stride, and sufficed with kissing Ilenna's hand quickly, and smiling at the smirking crowd. _That _was the real punishment, Ilenna thought, the _crowd_. Painfully aware of how red she was but unable to help it, Ilenna put on her best glare and tight jaw, and tucked her head until she was at her seat.

* * *

The second time, it was her last Yule in Camelot.

She'd been Merlin's apprentice for nearly five years, and just months ago, she'd graduated and assumed a role as a full-fledged Watcher of Camelot. Around the same time, she'd received a letter informing her that her father had passed away and that, as his eldest and oldest offspring, she was heir and master of his lordship. Unable and unwilling to abandon her duty, she'd begun packing her bags. Merlin had hardly said anything about it, but she could tell he was growing emotional about it. She tried not to let herself do the same; she didn't need anyone to remind her that she might not see Camelot or anyone in it for a long, long time. They walked in together at the Yule feast that night, as they had for the past five years, but after years of making a successful duck of the tradition, they'd somehow found the one door adorned with mistletoe. As onlookers noticed one by one, Merlin turned to her.

"I suppose it would hardly be Yule with out it," He said, smiling. She smiled back. Years in the city had made her more comfortable – if only a little – with such embarrassments. She didn't protest as he took her shoulders gently and placed a kiss on her forehead. She wouldn't tell him how her throat closed up when he did, because she knew it was the last Yule they would spend together for a while. He escorted her to her familiar seat, and she soaked in all of Camelot and her friends in quiet joy, because she knew she had to leave it behind.

* * *

The third time was three Yules later.

It was just like the old days. Merlin came by her rooms at a settled time, gave her a smile masked slightly by his light beard, and she took his arm. He complemented her on her dress – though this year a bit more haltedly than in times past, she wasn't sure why – and escorted her down to the feasting hall as all the knights where doing for their ladies that evening. It was the first time, however, that she complemented _him_ on his looks (and she did mean it – she had recently been discovering how well Merlin actually could clean up), and it was the first time she'd seen him blush at something she had said. It was the first time when _she_ did the talking to passers-by who said hello, because somehow he'd grown less talkative than in years past. It was their first Yule together as equals, and their first Yule together after Ilenna had returned from her home in the far north.

It was not, however, the first time _this _had happened. When the familiar catcalls and 'aww's came, Ilenna blushed as she always did, but actually smiled. For however much she hated the attention, she had to admit, she had missed all the odd Camelot traditions. She looked over at Merlin, and almost frowned when she saw that he was blushing just as much as she was. She was about to tease him, for that had never happened before, but quickly, he took her hand and leaned in to kiss her cheek. The feel of his whiskers and lips on her face made her face very suddenly stop what it was doing, and a trill went up her neck. It lasted a second, but then he was smiling at her politely as ever, and things were normal once again. Satiated tradition holders let them by to their seats unhindered, but even as the evening went on, Ilenna found her eyes straying over to him once in a while, her mind trying to puzzle out _what_, exactly, that had been.

* * *

The fourth time, things were quite different than they had ever been before.

It was a rather recent development, truth be told. Ten years of friendship, and as Arthur had put it more than once, 'it was about damned time'. The whole castle had suspected it for years, ever since Ilenna had moved back to Camelot, but it took much longer for either of them to acknowledge it. But after a great deal of awkwardness and arguing and a few near-death experiences to push them to it, they'd finally caught up with what everyone else was saying about them, and had decided that, you know, they rather thought they agreed. The only person who knew their official plans that Yuletide night was Arthur, and it may or may not have been the king himself who had put that scraggly, berried plant above the door. He could definitely be seen smirking at the back of the crowd when they appeared in the doorway and those closest (all too gleefully) pointed it out to the unsuspecting couple.

Merlin shook his head ruefully, and Ilenna turned red as ever, but she smiled despite. "Of course," Merlin said. Ilenna nodded and looked up at him.

"Shall we get it over with, then?"

"We won't live it down if we do,"

"We won't live it down if we don't," she told him. He quirked a brow.

"True. Might as well, then," He put a hand to her neck, "and I won't complain about that." He bent down and kissed her soundly on the mouth. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, and just after she touched her hand to his neck, he pulled back, bright red all over. He cast a quick glance out and saw Arthur across the hall, nearly glowing with smugness. "Yes, never living that down," he said. Ilenna surprised herself by laughing out loud. She took his hand and led him through the chattering, 'oohing' crowd to their seats. When they were seated, she leaned over and said into his ear,

"You've brazenly kissed me in front of the entire court, now you _have_ to tell them you're marrying me."

He only smiled in response, but before the evening was up, with Arthur's leave, he told them all just that.

* * *

A/N: I'm not exactly sure what it says about me as an author/OC creator that I'm actually really starting to enjoy this ship. I've got like three storylines developing for them (as characters, not necessarily as a pairing), one more viable than the others, that actually blends with a different storyline that's been batting about in my head for a while. In a short but not really helpful summary, it heavily involves Merlin, Ilenna, Aodan (you may remember him from my _Wizard and the Waif)_and the excerpts I posted in chapter 2 of this story. Still, I have no idea if it'll ever actually happen. ...I still feel weird for publishing a Canon/OC pairing, because I know there is a horrible stigma against them, for good reason. GAH.


	11. Yeah

A/N: I'm trying, I really am trying, to update my stories, like Recrudesce and Concurrency, but writing has been like pulling teeth. This semester has been brutal, to say the very least, and I'm at the end of my rope and I'm still a paper, four exams, lots of homework, and five days away from spring break. But, here's a little something to let you know that I'm still alive, and perhaps how I'm feeling at the moment.

* * *

He shuffled over, feet barely lifting, head low, shoulders slumped, chest barely moving as he breathed. He stopped right by the sofa and stood. She looked up at him from where she sat.

"Yeah?" She asked him, expression sympathetic. He looked down at her with dark rimmed, shining eyes.

"...Yeah."

Wordlessly, Gwen scooted over to one end of the couch and patted the seat next to her. Shuffling as before, Merlin fell into the cushions and curled up on his side. She guided his head to rest on her thigh, and she brushed her hands through his matted hair like she did with her sons, and he sighed into the fabric of her dress.

There were so many things he wanted to say in that moment. _I'm tired. I'm tired of being tired. I hurt. I ache. I can't stop. I want to stop. Make me stop. I need something but I don't know what. Something to make the world stand still._ He couldn't make his mouth say any of them, and he felt his throat close painfully instead. Gwen's hand brushed through his hair past his ear and gently massaged his neck.

"Rest, Merlin. It'll all be alright."

He wasn't sure why simple words made him cry, but he didn't even care if she felt the dampness on her dress, because he was just too _tired_. He closed his eyes, ignoring the tears, and fought his way to the land of dreams.

Gwen continued to brush his hair, silently exuding that serene _Guinevere_ calm that he believed could soothe any ills. She watched his face, noticing but not caring about the tear tracks by his eyes, because she was a woman, and she knew what he wanted to say but couldn't.

Arthur would walk in a while later, and send his wife a questioning look when he saw her coddling their Court Sorcerer, but then he would look at Merlin's face, his shoulders, the dark eyes and furrowed brow that remained even in sleep and yes, the trace of tears that had dried. He would nod and sigh, because he'd noticed the signs.

"Yeah?" He'd ask her, face concerned but a little bit lost.

She'd nod sagely back at him. "Yeah," but her voice wasn't lost at all.

Behind tired eyelids, Merlin didn't hear them, he only heard one word echoing along with the heartbeat that her fingertips sent down into his face, echoing strong with every beat.

_Home. Home. Home._

Her hand moved from Merlin's face as Arthur helped her navigate out from under him, but her pulse had already taught his what to say next.

_Home. Home. Home._

_I'm home._


End file.
